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Post by wildhorseluvr on Jul 26, 2021 18:25:49 GMT
“The hulking man spat the words out, drops of spittle flying onto Kevin’s face.”
I have to admit my first thought was, “Why isn’t he wearing a mask?” 🤣 Kevin may not have been able to get the sheriff out there but he could’ve called the Rat on Your Neighbor Hotline.
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Post by Ozarks Tom on Jul 26, 2021 18:28:41 GMT
Thanks for another bretf, Yeah, four against one aren't good odds, that's why my "little friend" holds eight.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2021 19:22:04 GMT
Wow. Kevin sounds like he’s gonna have some trouble with the new neighbor. Hopefully Tammy is capable of helping out.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2021 20:05:01 GMT
Getting the sheriff to come anyway to allow safe passage would be problematic with those thugs later. How would you all have handled it?
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Post by Ozarks Tom on Jul 26, 2021 23:39:12 GMT
Obviously my way of dealing with people like that wouldn't work for many, but I've had occasions over the years where ex-cons have been, shall we say, less than cordial. Heck, two guys I remember in particular. One had killed three people with knives, one that got him sent to prison, another in prison, and another while he was working for me. The other just beat a man to death.
Do I think I'm Superman? Nope, I just know that showing the least bit of fear or weakness encourages violent types. They enjoy scaring people, but aren't all that brave when the person they're pushing on doesn't respond to their BS as they'd like. Those prison tattoos are more of an intimidating statement than proof of manliness.
That said, Kevin made the right decision. Unarmed and threatened by four obviously violent people the best move is to smile and back up.
I can sort of see where this particular part of the story is going, Cindy's husband is some kind of drug king or similar, Cindy is just as low life as him, and Kevin is in for a rude awakening just how nasty the world really is. I hope Tammy has the bar smarts to know how to handle it.
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Post by wildhorseluvr on Jul 27, 2021 0:44:58 GMT
Getting the sheriff to come anyway to allow safe passage would be problematic with those thugs later. How would you all have handled it? I agree, in reality it would just create more problems. Leaving was probably the smartest solution, especially being outnumbered. Showing fear seems like the worst thing he could do. I’d probably leave, and upon returning home load some shotguns in case they decided to pay a visit later.
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Post by joebill on Jul 28, 2021 17:50:27 GMT
If I had been dim enough to get myself caught alone and unarmed, I would have had no choice but to leave unless I could have blasted through the brush alongside the road and got past the truck, but I would have been aware that I was going to have to quickly make some "adjustments" to the first impression I had left them with or be forever under their boot.
One such lad bragged to me "You should know, my buddy here went to prison for murder". I told him "Yeah, you should know I DIDN"T go to prison for murder. Think it over."....Joe
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Post by tabitha on Jul 28, 2021 17:58:43 GMT
this is just so awful.
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Post by bretf on Jul 30, 2021 12:48:31 GMT
Chapter 11
Kevin gasped, exhaling the breath he’d held as he drove from the lane into his carport. There was no sign of the goons he’d encountered earlier. He hadn’t expected to see them, getting home so late, but the way they’d shook him up, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find them waiting.
He breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Harvey’s house dark. Having someone over there was the last thing he wanted at the moment. As rattled as he’d been, he didn’t even hope to catch a glimpse of Cindy. But he paused as he looked at the dark outline of the house. How was someone as sweet appearing as Cindy associated with people like those men? Shaking his head, he knew he’d never understand the mysterious beings known as women.
The dogs were as happy to be home as he was relieved. They jumped out of the truck and hurried to do their business. He wanted to keep them close, to utilize their keen sense of smell and hearing, but they had nature’s call to attend to. He contented himself with watching them as they snuffled around showing no signs of alarm. A second sigh of relief escaped his lungs.
Kevin got a glass of water and sat on the ground, leaning against the house. Jack and Jill settled on each side, a head resting on each leg. He sipped from the glass, sat it down, and idly stroked both dogs. The day’s events ran through his head; the things he’d read on the internet, his chance encounter with Tammy, and talking to her later at The Watering Hole. And the goons working on the lane.
As he thought about it, especially things he’d read and the goons, he reconsidered his thinking on guns. He’d had some of those thoughts earlier and wished he already owned a shotgun and had it with him as he headed for home. Purchasing one had moved several notches up his mental priority list.
Sitting in the dark, reliving the encounter, he decided it might be easier to defend himself than he’d imagined while sitting in the safety of his office. He’d felt so intimidated by the goons. ‘and terrified. At the office, he’d been comfortable, with walls and friends around him, the police minutes away. But alone in his truck with two threatening men on each side of him ...He shuddered, and it wasn’t caused by the air temperature.
Those men didn’t look a bit innocent and he’d had the feeling they’d just as soon kill him as look at him. He shook again as he recalled the men, the way they looked at him, the menace in their words and eyes. Jill whined and Jack raised his head and gave Kevin a slurpy in comfort.
Despite his thoughts, Kevin grinned and stroked his friends’ heads. He wasn’t alone after all. But he didn’t want them to get hurt either. And the first goon had made a very direct threat at them.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, and patted them. “It looks quiet enough. Let’s go to bed.”
Kevin got to his feet, picked up his glass, and went inside. For the first time in months, he locked the door behind him, then went through the house checking all the window and back door latches. After he settled in bed, the dogs were comforting presences, pressed against him on each side. He grinned, glad they’d won the battle of wills over where to sleep.
#
When Kevin got up, he automatically went to the door to open it for the dogs. It took a moment for understanding when he found the door locked, then felt the dread from the previous evening. Pulling on a light jacket, socks and his rubber boots, he accompanied Jack and Jill outside. All was peaceful as they went about their business, not detecting anything out of place. Kevin glanced at Harvey’s still house, then went back inside, leaving the door open for the dogs.
With coffee brewing, Kevin went to the bathroom for his morning rituals. While he showered, he thought again about the previous day, and what he needed to accomplish. A lock for the shed would be nice, but, as he well knew, locks only deterred honest people. A lock on his shed would only arouse curiosity in the group Charley had doing the work on the lane. It would be an open invitation for them to bust in to find out what was inside. Forget the lock, he decided.
He’d spend his free time researching and pricing. One great thing about the internet, so many operations posted their prices online. Most of his research could be done from his secure desk. He felt a twinge at the decision. There wouldn’t be a possibility of another chance meeting with Tammy if he stayed at the office. Upon further reflection, he decided it couldn’t be helped, at least not for a few days. It would be a better use of his time, searching from his desk, than running all around town. Plus, it would give him time to get a better idea of what his priorities were and how to proceed. When it came time to make purchases, hopefully, he could buy most everything local. He needed to support the local merchants as much as possible since many were struggling to hang on. The huge online shopping options dominated the market and were forcing Mom and Pops out of business.
#
As the office emptied, Walt poked his head through Kevin’s doorway. “Working late?”
“I’m going to hang around for a while.” He indicated the papers scattered about his desk. “I need to clean up these notes and get them compiled in a way I can make sense of.”
Walt nodded, happy to see him showing signs of life, not hanging his head and going to The Watering Hole. “Okay, have a good evening.”
Kevin started a clean sheet of paper. A rough idea of his priorities had formed from his searches. At the top of the list, he noted “Knowledge”. The more he’d learned, the more he found he needed to learn. He listed several books and topics. Using the Rule of Threes, he put books on bushcraft, basic survival skills, and first aid at the top, including a Boy Scout manual. Long lists of recommended books were posted on various sites. They covered a wide range of topics relating to survival.
A good used book store still struggled to stay afloat in town. It would be his first stop. He didn’t consider electronic books. The entire activity had been triggered by the possibility of living in a world without power. He wanted all the knowledge in physical form, not something that could disappear in a whoosh.
Below that, he noted “Go-Bag”. His thinking on it had been altered during his research, and he was thankful he hadn’t rushed out to buy traditional camping items. While he still wanted a decent backpack, he wouldn’t look for a tent and sleeping bag. Instead, he’d buy either a space blanket or tarp. Probably the tarp, as he could get the same features for less money. Along with it, he’d pick up a couple of mylar emergency blankets, heavy-duty garbage bags, and paracord. One of the sites he’d bookmarked was devoted to emergency shelters and getting by with very little in the woods. The author of the site also recommended carrying a saw of some type. The least expensive he found was a wire saw with rings on the end. It wouldn’t take up much room and could be strung on a bent branch into a bow saw. It wouldn’t be the best saw but would work in a pinch.
The next entry to the list was harder. He went through a grueling mental debate before grimacing and writing “Check pawn shops for shotguns”. Following a dash, he wrote “Shells; buckshot, slugs, birdshot”. He shook his head, looking at the note. Those guys had rattled him and threatened the dogs. He hoped to never feel so helpless again.
It was easier to list first aid training and CPR next. The following entry was water. The water entry had numerous subcategories: portable filter, pumping system, catchment, storage, sand filter.
He could’ve gone on for a long time, there was so much to consider, but the dogs were getting antsy, wanting to go outside. “Okay, guys, let me gather this stuff up.” He started to stack the scattered papers, but stopped, and added one more heading to his list, along with a note behind it. “Food – store what you eat, eat what you store.”
With all the papers in a file folder, he powered his computer down and picked up his lunch box and jacket. He didn’t see anything else he’d need at home, and headed out, shutting down the lights and locking up.
#
The used bookstore had a treasure trove of reference books. Kevin could’ve left with several more than he did, but figured what he had would make a good start. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he could read more than one at a time. The ones he did purchase and the folder full of papers would occupy him for some time.
He turned off the highway onto his dirt lane and stopped, concerned. The track showed an inordinate number of vehicles had traveled it during the day, including one or more with a substantially wider axel track than his old truck. A sense of dread filled him and he reconsidered his priority list. If the gang of goons was out there, he wished he’d found a reasonably priced shotgun.
He sat there, the truck idling while he had a mental debate. More than once, he almost backed up and drove back to town, but in the end, he decided he had to go home and see what was going on. Driving slowly with both windows down, he began to hear equipment operating as he neared home.
Pulling into the open, he saw a beehive of activity at Harvey’s old place. It was only one day but he hardly recognized it. The house was going through a transformation. New windows glistened in one wall, a wall that men were applying new siding on. On the next wall, a hole remained where workers had removed the window. They were working on the opening, the new window leaning against the wall. In front of the wall with the new siding, more men were working. Kevin could only surmise they were starting to construct a deck. He noted that as well as it being on the side of the house that received the best late afternoon and evening sun, it was also the side facing his house.
Another big change was happening beyond the house. A track-hoe was operating, a large pile of dirt and rocks placed off to the side. Again, only surmising, Kevin decided they were digging a hole for a basement or cellar. But a basement under what? They wouldn’t be planning to build a new house, would they, while making such changes to the existing house.
He looked back at the house, watching workers carrying building materials inside, others carrying pieces out. He watched a man exiting the house. Going to a trailer, he threw the material in. Kevin could see the material joined a large heap of rubble already in the trailer. Perhaps they were gutting the house and rebuilding it.
That would make sense. Harvey’s old house didn’t seem like a place Cindy would like to live. The old man had led a Spartan existence. Kind of like mine. Thinking of Cindy, Kevin looked all around for her. Disappointed, he didn’t see her. It was probably a good thing. If she was there and looking anything like she had the night she’d talked to him, it would surely cause a workplace accident or two.
He made a mental note to no longer consider the place Harvey’s. The new owners were putting their stamp on it. He couldn’t imagine the finished product bearing much of a resemblance to what it’d started as.
Shaking his head at himself for thinking of Cindy again, he slipped the truck back into gear, released the clutch, and completed the drive to his carport. He couldn’t sit around watching those people work. He had his own work to do, starting with checking the garden, then working on the chicken pen. And once it was dark, a whole stack of books to look through.
He looked forward to both. His mood had improved as he realized he not only didn’t see Cindy, but none of the goons appeared to be around, either. He got out of the truck and glanced at the activity at the neighbor’s place, then wondered what he was going to prepare for supper. Not a Reuben, for sure, and no long conversation afterward, he thought wryly.
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Post by wildhorseluvr on Jul 30, 2021 13:11:45 GMT
Thanks, bretf, I look forward to each installment.🙂
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Post by bretf on Jul 31, 2021 22:44:20 GMT
Chapter 12
The combination of Jack nudging him and Jill whining at the bedroom door made Kevin look up from the book he’d been poring over. “What is it, guys,” he asked.
Both dogs repeated themselves and he looked at his watch. “Aw, it’s past our bedtime. Sorry, I was wrapped up in this.”
He placed a bookmark, returned his papers to the folder, and stood. Chuckling, he looked at his buddies. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you two to watch out for me since I don’t even have sense enough to go to bed.”
It’d been a productive evening. The garden was his first stop after changing into chore clothes. It was in good shape and he only found a few weeds to hoe. The ground had enough moisture he wouldn’t need to irrigate until the weekend. He contented himself by picking enough for a fresh salad and went to the house.
After the three of them had supper, he took his new roll of wire to the chicken pen. He dropped it, then went to the shed and got a shovel. The more he’d considered the problem, based on real experience, he’d decided the bottom was the place to start. And since he didn’t want wire laying on the ground, that meant he had a lot of digging to do.
Kevin worked steadily until it was hard to see as the sun descended. He wasn’t the only one. The workers at the neighbor’s home pushed on as well until it was too dark to work safely. Groups of laborers stopped for the day and drove away. Normal silence began to return as more and more of them left.
As he’d worked, Kevin looked over at the construction often. Evidently, Cindy hadn’t shown. Maybe Charley had, but he wouldn’t know since he’d never met the man. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Part of him thought it was because of the goons he’d had working on the road and the huge man’s comments about him. And the part he didn’t want to admit, not even to himself, was that he didn’t want to meet Cindy’s husband.
When he decided he was finished for the day, Kevin stood back and admired what he’d accomplished. He was pleased even though he was far from finished. But one more day of digging and burying wire should complete the groundwork. Then he’d cover the top of the pen. It wasn’t something he looked forward to but it’d be worth it if it protected his yet to be purchased hens.
With one more look at the neighbor’s house, Kevin put his tools away and went to the house. Following a shower, he spread his papers and books out over the card table, reading and scanning through the material. He paused often and made notes on a pad of things to look up, to prioritize, or to purchase.
Although food was low on the list according to the rule of threes, he noted to look for a cooking heat source better than his countertop burner. It just wouldn’t do for canning. When he’d been in the garden, he’d noticed several vegetables were approaching maturity. It wouldn’t do to let them go to waste, he had to preserve them.
Yes, he could freeze the bulk of them; the freezer was one thing Debbie had left. She no longer wanted to get a package of meat out and give it time to defrost. It was all about instant gratification for her, now.
But freezing implied he assumed he’d have power. The reason he was considering storing food was in case of a lack of power so freezing wasn’t his first option. One of the books he’d gone through had long sections on canning and dehydrating. Those were both viable options to prepare for long-term power outages.
A solar dehydrator would be nice and he found plans to make one in one of the books. He’d canned before but not to the extent the book described. It was time to learn and expand his abilities.
“Okay guys, you’re right. Let’s hit the hay,” he said. He brushed his teeth, checked all the locks, and went to bed.
#
Kevin was happy it was Friday. He was looking forward to having two days off work. If things went right, he could complete his chicken pen, work in the garden, irrigate, and do some shopping.
And in his downtime, he could get a better idea of things to shop for in the future. And who knew, maybe when he was shopping, he’d run into Tammy. Thinking of her made him anticipate next Wednesday and laundry.
The drive from home had been interesting. Unaccustomed to sharing his lane, he was glad of Charley’s goons cutting away brush. He pulled over three separate times as he met pickups driven by the construction workers. Judging by the time, and added with the time they’d knocked off the previous day, Charley had them working dawn to dusk. Whatever he and Cindy were having done to the old place, they wanted it completed fast. He chuckled at himself and said, “They’ll probably have it done before I finish the chicken pen.”
“I’m sorry, Kevin, I missed that,” Janice said, standing at the doorway to his office.
He chuckled again. “It was nothing. I was just talking to the dogs.”
She nodded and stepped into his office holding a sheet of paper. “I hope they listen better than my kids. Anyway, it’s payday. Here’s your printout.”
“Thanks, and speaking of kids, do you suppose you can keep an eye on Jack and Jill during lunch? I need to do a bit of shopping and don’t like to leave them in the truck.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. Hopefully, I won’t be too long,” he said.
Kevin took the proffered paper. When Janice was gone, he opened his browser and logged into his bank account. Maybe he’d have enough to cover his lunchtime excursion and a trip to the grocery store. But he didn’t know.
He’d never priced guns other than on the internet at the big stores. The pawnshops would surely offer a better deal, wouldn’t they? Shaking his head, he jotted down his balance, and then the amounts the auto-pay bills would eat. Maybe he’d have enough left over and maybe not.
He logged off and leaned back in his chair, thinking. Jack and Jill settled on each side of him. Each time he leaned back, they took it as a signal they’d get attention. Idly stroking both dogs’ heads, he contemplated a gun purchase again. The fear he’d felt from the goons on the road had faded and he performed a mental debate. The same mental debate he’d had before. Did he really need a gun? Was his life in jeopardy? Could he sight down the barrel at another human and pull the trigger? A definitive answer to any of his questions wouldn’t come.
#
Kevin paused inside the door, getting his bearings. While being a regular thrift store shopper, this was the first time he’d gone to a pawn shop. He scoped out the store.
One section was devoted to electronics. Shelves were filled with computers, televisions, and he didn’t know what else. Even though his house didn’t contain any of those items, he crossed them off his mental list. He was fine without them.
Another part of the store was devoted to musical instruments. He paused a bit longer. He’d never played an instrument - the comb and wax paper kazoo and the fluteophone in grade school didn’t count – and he didn’t have a musical knack. But one of the websites he’d perused had talked about entertainment in an end of the world situation. It was doubtful he could gain any competency with an instrument, but he’d still see what the store had, later.
Another section of the store was devoted to tools. Okay, he’d have to see what was there. Debbie hadn’t taken any of the tools that he knew of when she gutted the house, but still. A boy and his toys, a man and his tools. Was there ever too many. Nope.
Then he saw the guns. Long barreled guns, shotguns and rifles he surmised, stood racked behind the counter. He approached and saw handguns in the glass display case making up the sales counter.
The man at the counter looked up from the television he’d been watching, Doctor Phil, and asked in a raspy voice, “How ya doin, man. Ya buyin or sellin?”
“Uh, well, I’m interested in a shotgun.”
The man gave him his full attention. “Is that right? So, what ya want a shotgun for? Ya don’t exactly look like a bird hunter.”
“Well, uh, no, I’m not. Actually, I want one to protect birds, chickens to be exact,” Kevin said.
The man scrutinized him. “Yeah. Protecting chickens. Cut the crap, man. Whatta ya want a shotgun for?”
Kevin bristled at the comment. “I’m getting chickens. I want to protect them from predators!”
The man continued to study him. “Yeah, I suppose so. But as the dearly departed Paul Harvey used to fill us in with, I want to know the rest of the story.”
Kevin was taken aback. Although it’d been over a decade, he could clearly remember the radio personality with his trademark statement. He looked at the man, unsure what to tell him.
“Do I know ya?” the man behind the counter asked. “Ya look familiar.”
“Uh, I’ve never been in here before.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so. But that’s not it.”
The man looked pointedly at him. “I’ve got it. Yur name’s Andrews ain’t it?”
Again, he was taken aback. “Uh, yeah, uh, Kevin Andrews.”
“Yeah, I remember. And I know what ya do fer a livin. What are ya really wantin protection from? Deadbeat dads, like that A-hole my sis was married to?”
Kevin was puzzled. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember ever seeing the man. He looked at him, nothing coming to him.
“I seen ya. An I know what ya did fer my sis an her kid. I know that SOB planned on getting back at ya an her. So, okay, a shotgun, that’s good. But ya need a good handgun, too.”
“I, uh, I can’t afford a shotgun and a pistol,” Kevin stammered.
The clerk scrutinized him.
Keven thought he was weighed, measured and categorized by that gaze.
“Yeah, I reckon not. So, tell ya what, let’s look at a scattergun first, then I’ll show ya what ya really need.”
“Scattergun?” Kevin asked, not understanding.
The clerk sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, or maybe ya understand ‘shotgun’.”
“Yes, that’s what I came to see,” Kevin said.
The clerk pursed his lips and said, “Right. A shotgun. Then a pistol.”
“But I can’t—” Kevin protested before the clerk interrupted him.
“Ya can and ya will. If ya wanta live.”
Kevin took an involuntary step back. “I just wanted to look at shotguns,” he said meekly.
Shaking his head, the clerk said. “Yeah. An I heard that piece of crap my sis was with saying how he was goin to kill ya. I’ll set ya up with a good scattergun an somthin a little more handy.”
Kevin tried to protest more but the clerk had moved on to the gun rack.
“This’ll do,” he said, taking down a long-barreled gun from the rack. “I ain’t got any good tactical weapons but this’n’ll do for ya. It’s a Wingmaster 12ga. It’ll protect yer birds and whatever else yer protectin.”
Kevin took the shotgun when the clerk held it out to him.
With no hesitation the clerk moved to the glass display case, looked, and made a decision. Reaching in, he pulled out a handgun. “This ain’t top of the line, but it ain’t at the bottom either. It’s a Taurus, chambered in 9mm. It outta do ya.”
“But I can’t afford two guns and I don’t know the first thing about a pistol,” Kevin protested.
Again, the clerk seemed to weigh and measure him with his gaze. Kevin began to wonder if the man could see into his past and was measuring his parents as well.
“How much can ya spend?” the clerk asked.
Kevin told him.
The clerk’s brow crinkled as he thought about it. After an interminable time in Kevin’s opinion, the clerk said, “Okay. Gimme that, then the same amount next month and I’ll call it square. Ya did a solid by sis.”
Kevin still didn’t know how to take it. “But, I don’t know anything about pistols. I need bullets, or ammo, or whatever the right word for it is.”
“Listen, Kevin Andrews. In my world, we help people who help us. My sis was in a bad spot. Ya helped her. Ya saved her kid from God knows what. Ya know the sayin,‘what comes around, goes around’? Well, ya did good by us, now I’m goin to do good by ya. Now, ya take these guns, and then go visit these two friends of mine.” He laid the pistol on the counter, pulled out a slip of paper, wrote on it, and handed it to Kevin.
“Stop by the first one. Ray has the best priced ammo in town and he’s a good friend of mine. I’ll let him know to give ya the good-guy discount. Then call Dave, the second number. He’s a beast, but he adores Sis. He’ll teach ya all ya need to know about both these guns. Now, get outa here and never tell anyone about this transaction. Specially yer co-workers or the Feds. We’ll both be in a world of hurt if those jack-booted thugs find out about this.”
Kevin stood stunned. After a long minute, he said, “Sorry, but who is your sister and her son? I see a lot of families.”
“Nancy Weibe.”
Understanding and remembrance came to Kevin. As he’d said, he saw and helped a lot of families. But Nancy and her live-in, Jack Randall, stood out. “Isn’t he still in prison?”
His testimony had helped land the man in the pen. The man was a first-class goon; mentally, physically, and sexually abusing Nancy and her son. At his sentencing the man had gone on a mad tirade, telling everyone involved how they’d pay with their lives when he got out.
The clerk shook his head. “Yeah, he is fer now. But ya never know. All too often douche-bags like him get out, overcrowding, don’t ya know. So while we still lock up guys caught with a doobie fer the third time, he gets a parole hearing next week.”
Kevin turned pale, then took out his billfold and removed some money, laying it on the counter. “Thanks. I’ll see you next month. And if he does get out, keep Nancy away from that beast.”
Kevin went to his truck and stashed the shotgun behind the seat, the pistol under it. Checking his watch, he decided he had time to get to Ray’s Gun and Ammo before he had to get back to work.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 31, 2021 23:59:18 GMT
Once in a while good deeds pay off.
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Post by Ozarks Tom on Aug 1, 2021 2:03:51 GMT
Keep 'em coming Bret, getting better by the day.
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Post by bretf on Aug 3, 2021 1:09:04 GMT
Chapter 13
Kevin groaned as his pals worked to wake him up. It was past breakfast time and he was lying in bed instead of getting up and feeding them. “You two have got to learn the concept of weekends and sleeping in,” he grumbled as he fought his way to a sitting position.
Their response was several more licks and whines.
“All right, already. I’m moving.”
They jumped off the bed, their bodies undulating with excitement.
Kevin started to chuckle but it morphed into a yawn. Sighing as it was finished, he stood and stretched. Following a quick pit stop, he went to the living room and opened the door. Jack and Jill bounded out to make their own pit stops. Kevin looked over at the neighbors’ place. It was already swarming with workers. “I’m surprised I didn’t hear them and wake up,” he muttered. “Or my watchdogs didn’t alert me.”
Jack and Jill bounded up to him, unfazed by his criticism.
After they had breakfast, he scrutinized the guns he’d placed on the counter, shaking his head. He still wasn’t sure about the whole concept. It was against his way of thinking to believe he needed them for protection. He considered that if his dad had lived and come home from Vietnam, he might feel different. But guns and war had taken his dad from him when he was very young. What if he didn’t die? Would it change my ideals? Would I be like one of those guys I read about?
He shook his head, not knowing the answer to any of his questions. But resigned to the fact the day may come he’d need the guns, although he didn’t know that he’d be able to use them on a person if it came to it, he got ready to go meet with Dave at the gun range.
As he stood at the door to leave, he was conflicted. Although he wanted to take them with him, Jack and Jill would have to stay home. They’d never been left alone since he’d had them, neither outside nor inside the house. He wasn’t sure what they’d do if he left them out, but he wasn’t willing to take a chance and find out. He couldn’t bear the thought that they might run off. They’d have to stay in the house.
“Sorry, guys, but you have to stay. Keep an eye on the place and I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
They accepted it but seemed as unhappy with the situation as he was. As he drove down the lane, he glanced at the empty seat beside him, missing them more than he thought possible. Those two knuckleheads had ingrained themselves with him in a very short time.
#
Dave was reciting facts and rules of shooting, causing Kevin’s head to swim, nearly at overload. He did remember the one about only aiming at something you plan to kill. It struck a chord with the inner turmoil he was going though. Can I aim a gun at another human being with all intents of ending his life?
There were other rules, nearly endless rules, it seemed. There’s no such thing as an unloaded gun. Make sure what’s behind where you shoot. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. And on and on. Kevin was surprised at the depth of information Dave was imparting. Movies and television sure didn’t make it seem so complicated. Dave continued to talk and Kevin tried to keep up.
When the instructor finished the lecture, he turned his attention to the guns. The pistol was first. He broke the Taurus down, cleaned it, and reassembled it. He talked about different rounds, or cartridges, Kevin thought he’d called them, but couldn’t’ remember for certain. Then, he went through the same steps with the shotgun.
“I guess that’s as much as I can teach you sitting here. Now you need to tie it all together. Let’s go outside and you can show me you can handle these safely and fire them without shooting me or your own foot,” Dave said.
“I guess,” Kevin said, unconvincingly.
He stood and Dave looked at him expectantly. “You’ll need the guns,” he said.
“Oh yeah, right, Kevin mumbled.
They went outside, Dave with boxes of ammo and targets, Kevin with the firearms. Dave led the way to a shooting station at the end of the range away from the lone shooter already there.
Kevin looked over at the woman wearing a tee-shirt with ‘Sherriff’s Department’ printed on the back. He watched as she emptied a full magazine from her pistol into the man-shaped paper silhouette target.
“Man, she’s good.”
“You’ve got that right, man. That’s one cop that if she ever yells at you to stop, you better do just what she says. Otherwise, she’ll pop you. She’s the best of anyone who comes here and shoots,” Dave said. His comment was filled with admiring respect for the woman’s abilities.
Kevin watched enthralled as she made a fast magazine change and blew the paper perpetrator away.
Dave said, “Alright, let’s see if you can get one or two into the target. Tell me again, what do you know about shooting?”
“Nothing, except,” Kevin said and recited a few of the rules Dave had told him.
Dave nodded and said, “Then you might just be teachable, since you don’t already think you know everything. Most of the time, guys are the worst students because they do think they know it all, even when it’s wrong.” He nodded towards the woman shooter. “But women are generally open-minded. Keep yours open, listen and follow instructions, and we’ll get along fine.”
Following a long round of instruction and firing both weapons, Dave called the session to an end. “Well, I won’t call it good, but it wasn’t bad either. I want you to come back again and get more practice in. Now, let’s go in and you can clean both your guns. You remember how, right?”
“I think so,” Kevin said, picking up the guns and following.
#
Back in his truck, with the guns stashed out of view, Kevin thought about what else he wanted to accomplish while he was out. One of the things on his mental to-do list was to stop by the grocery store.
Another was to go to the farm store. Included in their expansive inventory, the store had a stock of propane camp stoves. Online searches for a new stove to do his canning had led him to search for alternatives. Kitchen ranges were too costly, totally out of his price range for the time being. A camp stove could do what he needed for a fraction of the cost, although he wouldn’t have an oven. As he’d debated the alternatives and researched, he’d found a stove top oven he could also get if he had an urge to bake something. It wouldn’t be the same as a kitchen range, but he was sure he could make it work.
During his searches, he’d also found several articles about rocket stoves. They’d piqued his interest and he wanted to build one, but not right away. Enough vegetables were nearly ripe in the garden, he didn’t want to spend the time on another project that’d cause him to lose produce.
The farm store was his first stop. Satisfied with the pricing and being able to keep his money local, he left with a two-burner stove and tank.
After another stop at the grocery store, he headed for home, anxious to be there. Hopefully, Jack and Jill hadn’t caused any problems while he was gone. He turned onto the lane, glad not to meet any of the construction workers as he approached his home.
What he did see, however, concerned him. At first glance, he was buoyant while feeling a fist tighten around his heart. With the house in view, the dogs bounded up the lane to greet him.
“What’s going on? How did you guys get out?”
He regretted having stashed the pistol under the seat. He’d placed it out of view. Unfortunately, it was also out of reach. But then again, if it was in reach, what would he do with it? If Charley’s thugs were waiting … would he? Could he?
He stopped and opened the door so Jack and Jill could jump into the cab with him and not take a chance of hitting one. He considered backing down the lane rather than taking a chance at finding out the answer to his questions. He also contemplated reaching under the seat for the pistol. He looked at the house to see if he needed to and saw the person waving to him.
“What?” he murmured, the pistol forgotten. He glanced at the dogs, running free a moment ago, then sat staring at his house in confusion. “I guess that’s how you got out, but didn’t I lock the door?”
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Aug 3, 2021 12:38:03 GMT
Oohhh. Who walked into his house??
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